


you took my heart and sealed the wound with salt

by Soriing



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Heartbreak, M/M, Pining, mercenary au, spy AU, this isn't about the relationship but it really is
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2018-10-18 01:58:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10606941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soriing/pseuds/Soriing
Summary: There is a series of events that make up Luciel's life, which, undoubtedly, is a fucking mess. He's a mercenary hired to kill, going from country to country for a paycheck. On an outing in France, he meets another agent- an actor with the face of an angel. A partnership forms, a relationship spanning all aspects of his life.Yeah, Luciel's life is a fucking mess.





	1. brave as a noun

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, hi, hello. I've been staring at synchronous loading and trying to write it for months now, but I got bored, so here we are. I'll update this with sl. When I can. That's right, I have two works in the process, one of which I haven't even written more than a paragraph for in months. Oh well, we'll see how this goes. I haven't gotten sleep since last week. Ahaha. I also have a YoI fic in the works, if anyone is interested.

**Paris, France, 12 June 2017, 1:10 A.M.**

 

Inhale, two, three, four.

 

Exhale, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

 

Inhale.

 

Exhale.

 

Repeat.

 

Luciel rubbed the underside of the grip with his thumb, readjusted his shoulder against the recoil pad.

 

He peered through the scope.

 

One-ten o’clock, one-eleven.

 

Any second now, and his target would cross into his sights, all perfectly woven between the crosshairs in his vision.

 

It was an easy job.

 

All he had to do was nest on top of a building, aim, and pull the trigger. All he had to do was memorize the behavior and schedule of his target that the agency provided and shoot, and then he'd get paid.

 

It was an easy job, where he could distance himself from his target and the reality of taking their life.

 

Sometimes the bullet would pierce their neck (that was Luciel’s favorite- usually less gore), but sometimes the bullet would spin just fast enough at just the right angle that it would go directly through the target's head and blow the back of their brains out.

 

It was easy to separate himself, dissociate, when the body would crumple among a heap of shiny, slick viscera, fall backwards into the cement. With how pink and vibrant everything was, it was easy to think it was all just a game. Just a game.

 

And when separating personal feelings from work was too hard to conquer, there was always the threat of the  _ what if _ s.

 

What if he missed?

 

Then, surely, his brother would suffer for it.

 

What if he didn't shoot?

 

Surely, again, his brother would suffer for it.

 

What if he died?

 

There was no certainty with that turn of events, but his brother would suffer the consequences of Luciel’s actions regardless.

 

That thought did wonders for keeping him grounded.

 

That night was like any other of his  _ outings _ , as he so often liked to call them. It wouldn’t be the same, however, in a matter of minutes. The night would diverge into a mess of limbs and sweat and empty promises, damp hope. Luciel would look back bitterly on that night, and think,  _ that’s when it all went wrong- the twelfth of June _ . _ That’s when everything went wrong. _

 

People swarmed, too focused on tourist sights to notice the man clad in black with dull gold eyes peering down at all of them through a rifle scope. He breathed, focused, grounded. He shot, breath momentarily caught in his throat until the body hit the ground. He disassembled his CSR, stuffed it in his saxophone case, and made his way off the roof and away from the scene. Just like any of his other outings.

 

He threw on a jacket as he rushed down the wide flights of stairs, pulled out a pair of sunglasses from a pocket, and perched them on his nose with his faux saxophone in hand.

 

People scattered. He thought the crowd was bad before his shot rang out, but now? Now, he inwardly groaned. He was going to have a headache later, and if he didn't get out of the crowd far from the blast zone, his handler would make sure that headache was  _ splitting _ .

 

Vanderwood always had a knack for making his migraines more pounding than should be possible.

 

Luciel did his best to race through the mob of people running down the Champs Elysées without drawing attention to his large instrument case by capping the knees of men and women, tourists and natives, running beside him.

 

A beeping in his earpiece led him down a narrower street, away from the throng and into a small bar where there was no panicking, no screaming, no dead body bleeding on the pavement.

 

_ “One shot. Nice,”  _ the voice in his ear said.

 

“Did you think I'd miss?” Luciel asked.

 

_ “No, but there's a first time for everything. Hey, this is your first time in France, right?” _

 

“Yeah. I wish it was a little different. Maybe more leisure and people-watching?”

 

A chuckle.  _ “You and me both, agent. You and me both. But you gotta admit, you did do a fair amount of  _ people-watching. _ ” _

 

“Funny. Surprised you still have a sense of humor after all these years.”

 

_ “Lucky for me, humor won't  get me killed on my end. You, though? Ha, we'd have kissed your ass goodbye a long time ago if you didn't straighten up.” _

 

“Whatever. I'll be at the meeting point in five. You better be there.”

 

_ “Ah, I'm still at the office. A handler is meeting you.” _

 

“Vanderwood?”

 

_ “No. He's one of our client’s guys.” _

 

“Shit. Name?”

 

_ “Zen.” _

 

“God, a stage name? What an asshole.”

 

_ “Seven,  _ you _ use a stage name.” _

 

“Not a stage name. It's for privacy.”

 

_ “Privacy! Privacy, he says!  Okay, okay. Just don't make him mad, got it? He's got connections.” _

 

“You do your job, I'll do mine. Is he bugged?”

 

_ “No. He prefers old school tech.” _

 

“I hope you’re right about that.”

 

\---

 

**Gokbanjeong-dong, South Korea, 3 August, 2023, 2:26 PM**

 

It was overcast, chilly. Luciel had his old hoodie on, that ratty thing, the one he used to wear all the time before he joined the business.

 

“Hey, is that you, Choi Saeyoung?” a man said. Then, deep, rumbling laughter. “I haven’t seen you since, what, 2008? How’ve you been?”

 

“Ah, Seung Heon-shi, long time no see,” Luciel said with a small nod. “Work’s been slower lately, so I came to visit my brother. Have you seen him?”

 

“Tch, always so formal. You make me feel old. Your brother just left the apartment not too long ago, ‘m not sure where he went, though,” Seung Heon commented. “And remember, next time, don’t be a stranger, okay? You’re always welcome in my home, Saeyoung.” The man smiled.

 

Luciel nodded, made his way down a narrow alley.

 

Lee Seung Heon was a good man. Honest, digilent. Luciel felt bad when he helped him and his brother, always did. His hatchery wasn’t popular, his product not fresh enough. But that was just the area. Lee Seung Heon lived paycheck to paycheck and never asked for anything in return for his help. Luciel lived job to job now that he was a freelancer. He could sympathize, but he felt dirty talking to the old man. Unworthy. There was blood on his hands, and there was blood on his brother’s. Lee Seung Heon was innocent. Associating with the twins would get him killed someday, Luciel knew.

 

He let out a deep sigh and sat down on the stairs leading to his apartment, chin resting in his hand, and pulled his hood up. His wrists itched.

 

It was dark by the time Saeran saw him waiting on the steps, the dangerous glint in his golden eyes.

 

“You’re late.”

 

Saeran spit on the ground. The circles under his eyes were darkening, bluish skin marring the pale pinks of his cheeks.

 

“Come on,” Luciel murmured, “aren’t you glad to see me?”

 

“No. Now leave.”

 

“Saeran, we haven’t seen each other in so long, why not catch up?”

 

Saeran locked his jaw, set it forward so his chin was jutting out.

 

“Saeran... talk to me?”

 

“Move.”

 

“Wha-”

 

“Move.”

 

Luciel looked up at Saeran, brows knit and eyes watering.

 

“We have a job to do,” Luciel reminded.

  
He stood up, moved to the side for Saeran to walk away and disappear behind a glass door and dark hallway, and stared after him.


	2. lonely cities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh look, two chapters in one day cool. except i've had this fic in reserve in case the sl situation happened, so  
> anynway i don't like the beginning of this chapter but here we are

**Paris, France, 12 June 2017, 1:34 A.M.**

 

“Tu as le temps  _ doré _ , monsieur?” Luciel asked, making a show of his false concern to the barista at the small café serving as his meeting point. If he was lucky, this guy would understand what he meant. If he wasn’t, the barista would just think he was an idiot, a stupid foreigner, and he’d have to search every shop on the street on a manhunt for the agent that he was, assumedly, supposed to meet.

 

“Oui,  _ monsieur _ ,” the barista replied, bitter like the coffee he brewed, the hint of an accent not lost on Luciel’s ears.

 

“ _ Ouais? _ Ah, est-ce que tu as un préservatif  _ doré _ aussi? Vois-tu-” Luciel was cut off.

 

The barista scoffed, gently placing the mug he was holding on the counter and slamming his hand down in front of Luciel with such a subtle ferocity that the latter flinched. He removed his hand, picked the mug back up, and peered down into the it as though it held the secrets of this unfortunate meeting.

 

A small, shiny coin was left in front of Luciel, the image of a silver bird nearly soaring off the coin catching the light.

 

“Ah, it is you, then,” Luciel said, slipping the coin into his pocket, running his thumb over the edge until he felt the hairline-thin, telltale crack of a hidden message within the metal. “Thank you, for the time. A shame you couldn’t have given it to me as soon as I asked. Do you know how much of it you just wasted, by the way?”

 

“Sorry,” the man said, mouth a tight line, “my French isn’t the best.”

 

“Oh, yeah? I think the least you could do is recognize a  _ greeting _ when you hear one,” Luciel said, inspecting the chipped varnish coating his nails.

 

Another scoff.

 

Luciel’s head tilted to the side, ever so slightly, as he appraised the faux barista. “How long have you been in this field?”

 

“Does it matter?”

 

“It matters,  _ Zen _ ,” Luciel said, leaning over the counter, inching closer to the taller man’s face, now, harshly whispering, “when you almost blow my cover because you can’t handle someone just because he has a bad attitude.”

 

Zen glared down at Luciel before turning away from him.

 

“Ah, look at the time. I missed my window. Now I have to search the rest of this  _ fucking huge _ city for my next outing.”

 

Luciel slid a few euros in Zen’s direction.

 

“What do you want?” Zen asked, sounding more annoyed than willing to serve a paying customer.

 

“Give me anything. I have more work I need to do, and you wasted too much time.”

 

Zen huffed, turning his back on Luciel and starting up the coffee machine. He kept his back to Luciel, tapped his finger against the countertop.

 

Luciel glanced at Zen out of the corner of his eye, the long strands cascading down his back freely, some tucked behind his ear. He did a double take. Zen’s hair is incredibly long, incredibly smooth. Luciel couldn’t help but stare, think about his own mussed, curly hair. The man himself was striking, strong, but his long, light locks added an elegance to his sharp features. A gentleness not expected of someone in Luciel’s field. It reminded Luciel of  _ him _ . His wrists itched.

 

A shiver ran up his spine.

 

“Hurry up,” Luciel commanded. He bounced his leg, joined his hands in front of him, stared at the clock above Zen. “Please,” he added softly.

 

“Saudade,” Zen muttered, sliding a cup of tea in front of Luciel. He leaned on his elbows, gaze fixated on the warm cup between the men.

 

“Excuse me?” Luciel asked, slipping his hand around the cup and lifting it cautiously to his mouth. It didn’t smell off, but, rather, tangy.

 

Zen’s eyes followed the motion, watching as Luciel placed the porcelain back onto its plate and paid it no mind. “Homesickness. When was the last time you were home?”

 

“It’s been years. Why? Are you on something?” Luciel raised his eyebrow. He wasn’t a fan of the direction the conversation was turning.

 

“Do you ever miss being home?”

 

There was such a longing look in Zen’s eyes, a melancholy- or was that nostalgia?- molding his visage. An infinitesimal crease between his brows, a clench in his jaw.

 

“Mm, so you’re just feeling down, then. No, I don’t really miss it. Not much for me left there.”

 

Luciel learned it was best to be paranoid instead of accommodating when he was young. He learned that even before he joined his agency and killed for a living. Before he ran away and left his brother with  _ her _ . Before he had his heart broken by  _ him _ . Before his brother called Luciel and confessed what  _ he did _ . But this agent in front of him? So open, so curious. He couldn’t help but indulge.

 

“That... that’s so sad.”

 

Luciel watched Zen’s eyes fall to his hands, the corners of his mouth curl up ever so slightly. Watched as strands of his silken hair fell over his shoulder, pooling on the counter. God, it hurt to look at him-  _ him? _ No, he was different, wasn’t the same person, not remotely at all like him. Couldn’t be. (Couldn’t be?)

 

“Is this going to affect your job?” Luciel asked. He licked his lower lip, bit it to feel that pain that kept him in the present.

 

“That really is all you people think about, isn’t it?” Zen said, sighed. That faint smile was gone. “You’re not going to drink that. Didn’t you say you needed to look over the city? You should get going to your next- what did you call it? Outing.”

 

“Come with me,” Luciel heard himself ask. His eyes widened with Zen’s, his mind starting to panic, send him into overdrive. He started, corrected, “that is- if you can. I don’t- I don’t know how your agency works, so, yeah, you know?”

 

“You’re asking  _ me _ ,” Zen confirmed, “to come with  _ you _ ? While you’re on the job?”

 

“Yes. You kind of owe me, for wasting time, so I figured, maybe, you’d... come. With me. To- I don’t know, help?”

 

Zen laughed. The fucker had  _ laughed _ at Luciel stumbling over his words- very uncharacteristic, by the way. Still, Luciel felt a warmth pushing its way to his cheeks, his ears, his chest, his stomach, which he swore was from embarrassment, nothing more. Absolutely nothing more.

 

“So, is that a no?” Luciel’s brows knit together in a worried line- he’ll admit, he was nervous. (Was that the right word?) He hated himself for being so open about his feelings.

 

A smile. No, a  _ grin _ .

 

“I’ll come.”

 

\---

 

**Incheon, South Korea, 14 August, 2023, 10:08 PM**

 

It would’ve been a waste to leave Korea so soon, so, naturally, Luciel sat at the bar of a dance club he followed his target into. Technically, this wasn’t his case to take, but what was the harm in taking someone else’s job and doing it more efficiently? He already knew who his target was on a personal level, but he prayed that she didn’t remember him. After all, high school was ages ago, and he graduated far ahead of his class- years ahead, even.

 

He sighed, tapping his finger on the counter.

 

“Can I get you anything?” the bartender asked him with squinted eyes, turning his attention from the young girl seated a few seats down from Luciel to the sighing redhead.

 

“No, no, I’m waiting for someone.”

 

The bartender shrugged, went back to manning the bar. Luciel noticed the employee’s eyes flicker over to him every now and again- every one hundred and seventy seconds, he counted.

 

Then his target was coming out of the bathroom, wiping nonexistent dust off of her skirt.

 

Luciel sidled up to her, offering the most charming smile he could manage. “Eun-Jeong! I don’t know if you remember me, but we went to school together.”

 

“Ah, right, right, um...” she said with such a gentle smile, Luciel was almost sad she was the target of some client’s obsession.

 

“Hyeonu,” he provided.

 

“Hyeonu! It’s good to see you after so many years. I recognized your face and,” she said, gesturing to his hair. “I was always jealous of the color.”

 

Luciel chuckled. “Can I buy you a drink? For old time’s sake?”

 

“Oh, oh, um, I’ll actually here with friends today. Do you want to join us?”

 

She was just being polite. The slight raise of her shoulders showed him she was nervous. Good.

 

“Is that really alright?”

 

He was just being polite. He had no interest in meeting her friends, making the job more personal than it needed to be. A shame.

 

“Yeah! Yeah, we’re sitting over here,” she said, leading him to a set of booths.

 

He felt the bartender’s eyes still linger on him until he was out of sight.

 

Sat around in the booths were people he vaguely recognized- he never forgot a face, and he supposed that was a good thing, given his job. But putting names to faces? Too much of a hassle. They looked at him, confused smiles playing on their cheeks, reddened with alcohol. There was one face, though, that he wasn’t counting on seeing again. Pale, clear skin with those stunning crimson eyes, a long argent braid sweeping over one shoulder. There was a forced smile, hardened eyes, sent in Luciel’s direction. Eun-Jeong nodded at Luciel, had him sit between her and  _ him _ .

 

“Guys, this is Hyeonu. He went to school with us, remember?” Eun-Jeong said with a flourish of her hand, eyes lit up in a smile.

 

They responded in a chorus of nods and greetings.

 

“Hyeonu, this is Iseul and Haneul- they’re sisters,” Eun-Jong added, gesturing to two girls opposite of Luciel at the table. Then, pointing to each person until she came back to herself, “and that’s Duri, Byung-Geun, Seok-Chin, and Gyeong.”

 

“Nice to see you all again,” Luciel said with a small bow if his head. “Ah, and  _ Gyeong _ , long time no see,” Luciel said, a too-wide smile lighting up his features.

 

Zen turned away from the greeting, humming in place of looking at the redhead. The siblings looked at Luciel with wide eyes.

 

“Oh, you know each other already?” Haneul had a light voice, a trembling sing-song, her bright, bleached-caramel hair falling to one side with a tilt of her head. “Did you two end up going to university together?”

 

“Something like that,” Luciel said. He nudged Zen with his elbow, leaned close to his ear, whispered, “didn’t know these were the golden guys and gals you spent time with.”

 

“They are. Make me happy as a flightless bird,” Zen replied, lip pulled back in that familiar, almost savage grin Luciel hated.

 

Eun-Jong had gone back to chatting with her other friends, giving Luciel and Zen time to catch up- in whatever semblance the words meant to the agents.

 

Luciel groaned. “I was honestly hoping I wouldn’t see you on an outing. Or ever again.”

 

“If it’s any consolation, I feel the same. Ah, but alas, if only life was that simple, hm?” Zen said, cradling his chin in his palm.

 

“Pfft. If only.”

 

“Maybe there wouldn’t be so much hatred then.”

 

“That’s funny, coming from you.”

 

“Is it?”

 

“You took this job, didn’t you? Gotta count for some repressed rage, doesn’t it?” Luciel asked, lowering his voice to a murmur, “or are you actually friends with these losers?”

 

Zen laughed. “Losers? That’s funny, coming from you.”

 

“Is it?”

 

“I’m going to smoke.”

 

“Mind if I join you?”

 

“You started smoking?”

 

“Only when I think about you.”

 

“Hm.”

 

“You give me a bitch of a headache,” Luciel clarified.

 

Zen and Luciel excused themselves, the former throwing an apologetic smile towards Eun-Jong, tapping the pack of cigarettes in his pocket when she threw him a confused look.

 

“How’ve you been?” Zen asked casually, hands awkwardly sliding into his pockets as the duo walked into a dimly lit alley.

 

“It’s been two years,” Luciel said, leaning against the brick wall of the bar, eyeing the employee’s side entrance.

 

“I can’t ask you how you’ve been doing?” Zen, for  _ god knows _ whatever reason, sidles up next to Luciel and rests his hips on the wall.

 

“I could be doing better. Could be doing worse. You know, the ins and outs of the job,” Luciel said. He leaned his head back, crown resting against the wall and neck bared to the man beside him.

 

“How’s your brother?”

 

“How’s your ex-girlfriend?”

 

“What makes you think I broke up with her?”

 

“Wishful thinking,” Luciel said. Zen frowned. Luciel hated making Zen frown, loved it, hated it, was addicted to the push and pull. “I’m kidding. It’s my job.”

 

“Are you saying your agency has been keeping tabs?”

 

“I’m freelance.”

 

Zen raised a manicured eyebrow. “Oh. What happened?”

 

Luciel shrugged. “What usually happens.”

 

There was a silence, the suffocating kind that made Luciel’s legs feel weightless, ready to break for it- he always chose flight over fight, in the end. Too bad Zen had beaten him to the punch. Zen pulled out his cigarettes, got one between his teeth before Luciel grabbed it and flicked the thin roll of tobacco to the ground.

 

“I thought we came out to smoke,” Zen stated.

 

“I changed my mind.” Luciel shrugged. “The weather is too nice.”

 

“Too nice to smoke? Haven’t heard that before.”

 

“It’s pretty out here. Except, you know, for you.”

 

“Then that’s the problem, that I’m here? You know I’m working right now.”

 

“I just don’t want you to light it then, I guess.”

 

“Does the smoke still bother your lungs?”

 

Luciel scoffed. “It bothers everyone’s lungs, dumbass. You can’t build a tolerance, as much as you wish you could.”

 

Zen hummed, shoved his hand back in his pocket.

 

There was another stretch of silence. Luciel glanced at Zen from the corner of his eyes. It hurt, looking at him. It was time to leave. This wasn’t his job, and he’d be running late if he stayed to watch this play out, anyway. At least, that’s how he justified this urge to run.

 

“You know,” Luciel started, “when I see you, I still have a hard time concentrating.”

 

“Is that so?” Zen looked at him, braid sliding from his shoulder with the push of his hand.

 

“Yeah, yeah, it is.”

 

Zen snorted. “Is that why you double-tapped a few years back?”

 

Looking back, maybe Luciel could have realized it was a joke. But Luciel never liked jokes about other people unless they came from the man himself.

 

“You mean after you disappeared without a trace from the apartment and left the ring on my desk? Yeah, yeah, it is.” Luciel laughed, a humorless, strangled trill. “I was a mess, by the way. My boss pulled me for two months until I got my shit together.”

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know-”

 

“No, you didn’t. You don’t know anything that happened after you left,” Luciel spit.

 

Zen sighed. “Saeyoung... the engagement, was it even real?”

 

His voice was quiet, a tightness lining his words, the telltale sign of tears forming in his scarlet, stargazer’s eyes.

 

“Of course, you idiot.”

 

“Shit...”

 

“Yeah.”

 

And then pale, slender fingers were slipping through Luciel’s own rough digits. Zen gave Luciel’s hand a squeeze, a comforting gesture that had Luciel resting his head against the taller man’s shoulder.

 

“I missed you, Hyun,” Luciel murmured.

 

“I missed you, too.”

 

“I still do.”

 

“Don’t- don’t say that. You know we can’t keep up a relationship in our line of work.”

 

“We can quit. Remember how you used to talk about doing that?”

 

“Would you?” Zen asked, turning his head to face Luciel, and sounding so  _ hopeful _ that Luciel almost said he would, almost threw everything away for the man.

 

Instead, he stayed quiet, stayed content with the small, knowing hum from the younger man, the warmth of their interlocked hands, the chaste kiss pressed into his hair. He had time. He could stay just a little longer. He had time.


	3. cheap thrills

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi i forgot this was a thing i should be updating but what else is new.
> 
> from here on out, this will be unbeta'd.

**Paris, France, 12 June 2017, 2:10 A.M.**

 

“What is that?”

 

“What?”

 

“Is that a wig?”

 

“Is  _ what _ a wig?”

 

“On the counter! Is that yours?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Are you wearing false eyelashes?”

 

“ _ Yes _ .”

 

“Oh my god, is that a dress?”

 

“Shut  _ up _ and let me finish getting ready!”

 

“I thought  _ I _ was the actor here.”

 

Luciel whipped around with a glare distorting his features, tube of mascara rolling into the sink.

 

“What’s that look for?” Zen asked, though he laughed at the deadly look pointed at him.

 

If looks could kill, Luciel would later think, years after the unfortunate events of that night, he would have been saved right then and there.

 

“Do you even know who I’m hunting?” Luciel asked. He fished the mascara back out of the sink, wrinkling his nose.

 

“No, but I was under the assumption you’d be on a rooftop behind a gun,” Zen admitted, shrugging. His eyes lingered on the long, dark lashes sweeping out above Luciel’s real lashline.

 

Luciel groaned. “I wish. But this fucker? Real asshole. He can get on his knees and suck my cock. His head will be paying my rent for the next three months. Decided to take a more personal approach.”

 

“Yeesh, a little heated, aren’t we?” Zen chuckled, resting his hand on the bathroom counter next to Luciel’s hip.

 

“Yeah,  _ real _ heated. Now get out of here and let me finish getting ready.”

 

\---

 

**Jeju Island, South Korea, 15 August, 2023, 12:59 PM**

 

It was hot, the last wave of summer rolling from the sun and down to the earth. Luciel sat tapping his foot on a bench by the port, religiously checking the time on his phone. He rubbed his cheek with his free hand. Then and there, he decided he hated sweating, the sun, and the entire world outside his shitty apartment in that shitty alleyway in that shitty district.

 

Here Luciel sat, tapping his foot and checking the time every few seconds, waiting for his old partner- in every imaginable way, unfortunately- so they could  _ talk _ . Because they used to do a lot of that. No communication issues at all. Never. Just like how, last night, Luciel had to duck out awkwardly at a random bus stop so Zen could finish his job, flirting with Eun-Jong while he said some half-hearted goodbye. He should’ve just commandeered the job. But he wouldn’t have gotten paid in full if he took the job over. Whatever. It was whatever.

 

“Hurry up, hurry up,” Luciel muttered to himself.

 

He watched as tourists strutted by with cameras and big  shopping bags full of who-knows-what-but-it-probably-costs-as-much-as-rent from the stores lining the streets. He hated them, all of them.

 

“Saeyoung,” a silky voice said by his ear.

 

Luciel jumped, snapping his head in the direction of the voice. “I told you not to call me that anymore!” Luciel smacked the agent’s arm lightly.

 

Zen smiled, chuckled. Luciel wanted to stab him, kiss him, throw him over the pier and watch him drown, watch those silver wisps of hair get swallowed by the blue-gray sea just for saying his name like he had the right to.

 

“Sorry, sorry. Habit. But you didn’t care last night, did you?” Zen warbled.

 

Fucking  _ warbled _ . With that smooth voice, that slight tremble in between breaths. Was that even the right word? Luciel hated the effect the silver-haired agent had on him.

 

Luciel decisively chose to ignore that last statement because, in all honesty that he would later fervently deny, he  _ did _ care. And it was the care made him want to crawl back into bed and listen to the younger man’s heartbeat in the late hours of night,  into the flood of dawn. He cared as much as he wanted to go home, back to the way things were before he picked up this shitty job in the first place and then steal his classmate’s cat, maybe even plan a trip to France where he could meet the agent accidentally and under innocent circumstances.

 

“No it’s not, you asshole. You had two years to drop it. That’s like, eleven more times than the average to break a habit,” Luciel gibed. The offset of fondness in his tone almost choked him, almost strangled a sob of laughter out of his traitorous throat. This was a mistake.

“I guess it just wasn’t long enough,” Zen said, and Luciel could  _ feel _ that buzz in his legs that ordered him to do nothing more but run away instead, before he found himself doing something he knew he’d regret.

 

“Shut up,” Luciel spat. “It was more than enough. Now stop calling me that before someone overhears you and I end up with a bullet lodged in my skull.”

 

“Would that be so bad? I mean, it’s an easier way out than what my agency does,” Zen said.

 

“I’m freelance. I could be lying dead in a forest for years before someone thinks to look for me,” Luciel said. “But,” he added, standing up and stretching his arms above his head, “I guess it’s really not that bad. Could be worse. Easy way out, right?”

 

His back popped, the joints snapping back into place.

 

“That’s disgusting,” Zen commented.

 

“It hurt, was what it was. I can’t believe you’re still grossed out by that. It’s just my joints.”

 

“I just feel like you shouldn’t crack  _ that _ much.”

 

“Pfft, why do you even care? It’s not like my hip ever popped when we were in bed.”

 

“But your back did,” Zen pointed out.

 

“Okay, you know what? Let’s get out of here. Too public for where this conversation is going,” Luciel said.

 

That elicited a laugh from the silver-haired man.

 

“Oh yeah, laugh all you want, bitch. We’re going to a karaoke room, and you’re paying,” Luciel said.

 

“And why am I the one paying? Besides, isn’t it a little early to go to a karaoke bar?”

 

“Because you have a stable job. And I said we’re going to a room, where it’s  _ private _ , not a bar. You know I don’t drink.”

 

“I wouldn’t say that my job is stable.”

 

“It’s more stable than what I’ve been doing for, what, two years?”

 

“I’ll give you that. Come on, I’ll pay for us.”

 

Luciel followed Zen down a bustling street. Luciel never really got around to visiting Jeju when he was staying in Korea for more than a month at a time, never got around when he was still a teenager and he lived in Incheon. He had to admit, there was nothing quite like the long streets of Jeju in the dying dog days of summer.

 

\---

 

**Paris, France, 12 June 2017, 2:50 A.M.**

 

Luciel never realised how easy it actually was to pick up guys at a bar. He’d been told he was feminine before, there was no denying that, but to actually be able to have a guy hang off of every half-hearted word he spoke? It was a rush. Despite the way the balls of his feet ached from the height of his heels, the awkwardness of breathing with a waist cincher on, he would’ve felt a revival of excitement from this job- a new intimacy he preferred to keep tucked away, lest he have trouble sleeping at night.

 

Luciel stood at the bar, twirling the caramel locks of his wig around a finger. Zen watched from a distance, nursing a drink, perched at the other end of the bar in Luciel’s line of sight.

 

The plan was simple. Take his bounty to the hotel, go in for the kill, flee to a motel out of the city. Whether or not Zen would follow him past the kill, that was up in the air. He’d see how things went, and work off of that. Years in the future, he’d look back at this night and realize just how much he messed up in a matter of seconds.

 

“-and then, I said, I said to her, ‘Dabin? I thought this entire time your name was Soobin!’ And I never talked to her again, let me tell you. She was crying and-” his target said.

 

“Hey, Junho oppa, why don’t we go back to where I’m staying?” Luciel interrupted in his trembling whisper of a falsetto, punctuating the request with a graze of varnished nails up the man’s arm and a coy smile.

 

Junho flashed him a smile, and if Luciel didn’t know what this man’s real occupation was, he’d say it was radiant, award-winning. One that could make anyone’s knees weak. And by god, if Luciel wasn’t even slightly tempted to prolong this mission for  _ reasons _ , he’s be lying. Junho was a thirty-year old actor with thick brows and double eyelids, and was, admittedly, just as good at the art of lying as Luciel was at the art of killing. The difference? Junho appealed to the masses- livestreaming graphic crimes garnered attention faster than any sudden death of your next door neighbor could.

 

Luciel almost shivered when the man’s large hand found its place at the small of his back, pushed him closer to the door, into his broad chest. It took all the self control he had to keep himself from slicing Junho’s neck open right then and there. Luciel glanced back at Zen, couldn’t help the crease in his brows, the downward turn of his lips. Still, he gave him a nod, a signal for Zen to follow the couple out.

 

It wasn’t until Luciel was pressed against the bathroom door of his tiny hotel room, skirt hiked up to his hips, that Zen entered the room. Zen was calm, surprisingly so given the unholy act he was witness to.

 

Whether or not Junho was bothered by the fact Luciel was actually a man, there was no way of knowing. Rather, it seemed to Luciel that Junho almost seemed happier that he  _ was _ a man. This prospect had Luciel half-hard in the man’s hands, a moaning, flustered mess.

 

Zen cocked his head to the side, an amused glint in his ruby eyes. He raised his gloved hand, gave Luciel a small wave and pointed to the man that was his current undoing.

 

Luciel nodded.

 

And then every hot sensation on Luciel’s skin disappeared, cooling with the air of the room and the crack of Junho’s nose against Zen’s fist.

 

“Surprise,” Luciel said, breath ragged from Junho’s handiwork.

 

“What the fuck?!” Junho screamed before Zen placed his hand roughly over the man’s mouth.

 

“What were you planning for this outing, exactly?” Zen asked Luciel.

 

“Ah, I was tempted to see what my Surgeon could do up close, but it’s a little loud for that. And then I toyed around with the idea of smothering him, but that didn’t feel fitting,” Luciel said.

 

“So what did you decide go with?”

 

In retrospect, Luciel figured gagging Junho before Zen burst in and discussed his eventual death would have been wiser than just letting Zen manhandle him. Perhaps running the water in the shower would have helped muffle the noise as well.

 

Regardless of the could-haves and should-haves, someone pounded on their wall when Junho groaned in pain. Luciel guessed he could have planned out his personal attack beforehand when Zen shook his head and shot him an appalled glance.

 

They left the body in the bathtub.

 

“There’s something poetic about it,” Luciel said.

 

“You’re crazy,” Zen said.

 

“To think he brought so many freaks joy,” Luciel said.

 

“Let’s get out of here,” Zen said.

 

“Now look at him, all broken and bloody. Killed by a guy in a dress and the agent he picked up out of a café,” Luciel sighed. “We should take a commemorative photo.”

 

“That would place us at the crime scene.”

 

Luciel shrugged. “Only if they could find us.”

 

Us.

 

Luciel would have stopped himself then if he knew the repercussions of considering he and Zen a unit, a whole.

 

“We’re not taking a photo.”

  
“Okay.”


	4. geri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbeta'd ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

**Jeju Island, South Korea, 15 August, 2023, 1:12 PM**

 

Zen was sat next to Luciel in the private karaoke room. Zen’s legs were crossed, hand tapping idly at one knee. A random pop song played in the background from the karaoke machine, microphones laid to the side and ignored.

 

“So, we’re here,” Zen stated.

 

“Yeah,” Luciel said.

 

Luciel scratched the back of his head.

 

“You wanted to talk,” Luciel said.

 

“I thought you did, too,” Zen said.

 

“I guess I do. Deep down,” Luciel said. “There’s just so much we didn’t say, you know? Shit, was that too cheesy?”

 

The corners of Zen’s mouth turned upwards, his eyes darting to meet Luciel’s.

 

“Yeah, there’s a lot we didn’t say,” Zen said. A sigh. “We didn’t really talk after I was reassigned, just, sort of- yelled? Argued? When we actually saw each other. Damn, I’m an idiot.”

 

“Tell me about it. God, I just want to quit and, I don’t know, maybe get a regular job?” Luciel said.

 

“Really? You, getting a normal job?” Zen chuckled. “I just can’t see it.”

 

“Can you see me as a dad?” Luciel asked jokingly.

 

“Mm, maybe someday, if we’re talking about cats,” Zen said. “We need to get your sleep schedule sorted out before you think about quitting and finding a cat, though. Freelance- how did you manage that one without getting blackballed?”

 

Luciel shrugged. “I’m just good at what I do. You know, not everyone has the patience to sit on top of a roof all night or destroy their eyes from squinting all the time.”

 

“Ah, well, I have the patience to wait in a car for you all night in complete anxiety. Proved as much during our missions together.”

 

“Oh, back when we actually got things done?”

 

Zen laughed. “It’s not my fault, I just went with the swing of things. You’re the one that decided what got done and when. Are you still obsessed with scheduling every minute of every day?”

 

“Asshole. I didn’t plan out everything. There was no way I could’ve. It’s how we met, after all,” Luciel said, sighed. “Don’t think I’m over what you did, just because I’m willing to talk to you like this.”

 

“I’m sorry about that, really. But you know how things are- I couldn’t have just told you. Where I was sent.”

 

“You didn’t have to leave the ring.”

 

“I’m sorry. I felt like it would be too cruel to keep it.”

 

“Crueler than letting me think we still had a chance?”

 

“That would’ve been an even bigger problem later, you know that.”

 

Luciel sighed. “Yeah, it would’ve.”

 

A silence. The last beats of a song. The beginning of another.

 

“Do you still love me?”

 

“That’s not fair.”

 

“I know.”

 

“I have a girlfriend now.”

 

“Ex-girlfriend.”

 

“Right. Ex-girlfriend.”

 

“So you’ve moved on, then.”

 

“That’s not fair.”

 

“You’re right, it’s not.”

 

“I wish I could give you a real answer, Luciel.”

 

“Honestly? I don’t really care if you can’t. I just want to go home.”

 

“Home? Like, your old apartment in Seoul or your brother’s apartment in Gokbanjeong-dong?”

 

“Our apartment in Busan, with Nari and our blankets and our bed.”

 

Zen hummed.

 

Luciel leaned his head back and looked up at the ceiling. “I’m just tired, forget I said that.”

 

“No, no, I understand. I want to go back too, I really do. What did you do when the lease was up?”

 

“Oh, I was gone by then. There was no reason to stay. How’s Nari?”

 

“Oh. Nari’s okay, but I think she misses you. She hisses at my girlfriend when she tries to pet her.” Zen chuckled.

 

“Ex-girlfriend.”

 

“Right. Ex-girlfriend.”

 

“So are we done talking? Anything we missed?” Luciel asked, checking the time on his phone. “I need to call Saeran.”

 

“Are we? I feel like we’re missing something,” Zen said.

 

“Oh! I remember. Fuck you, I’ll be keeping tabs on you, I’m stealing my cat back, and I hope everything between you and Miok sinks into the pits of hell so you know what heartbreak really feels like. Now are we done?”

 

Zen laughed. “Yeah, now it feels like we’re done.”

 

“You don’t have anything else to say? Seriously? Am I the only bitter one here? Bullshit,” Luciel said.

 

“Fine, fine. Don’t call me, or text me, or try to talk to me unless it’s work related and you can’t talk through a handler. Unlike you, I have a life outside agency payroll. And treat your brother and your body right, asshole. Oh, and Nari is mine. I’ll call the cops on you if you try taking her again. Now don’t let me keep you from calling your brother.”

 

“Nari’s not yours if she loves me more.”

 

“Ouch,” Zen said, planting a hand on his chest in mock hurt.

 

Luciel slapped his shoulder. “I have an idea. Let’s trade Nari and Saeran. He likes you more,” Luciel joked.

 

“That he does, that he does. Do you want me to call him for you?” Zen asked.

 

“Nah, he’s not your business anymore. You left him behind with the ring,” Luciel said, standing up and stretching his back.

 

“Okay, okay, I get it. I’m a piece of shit.”

 

“Where’d you get  _ that _ idea?”

 

Zen watched Luciel fish his phone out of his pocket. “Where are you assigned after this?”

 

“Hm, after another job here, I’m going to Australia,” Luciel said. “Something about a monopoly in the smuggling industry. You?”

 

“I’m going back to Incheon. I have a vacation for a few weeks. After that, I’m headed to someplace in South Africa.”

 

“Paid vacation?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Cool. I’m on vacation all the time, but I don’t get paid.”

 

“I think that’s just unemployment.”

 

Luciel checked the time on his phone. He turned to the karaoke machine, knitting his eyebrows together. “Details, details. You can turn this off when you leave, I need to call my brother.”

 

“So this is it then?” Zen asked. “I won’t see you for another, what, another two years? That’s a long time.”

 

“I don’t know, we’ll see. I really have to make this call, Hyun. See you,” Luciel said with a wave of his hand before walking out of the karaoke room.

 

\---

 

**Côte d’Azur, France, 12 June 2017, 5:28 A.M.**

 

Luciel stepped out of the van, slamming the door shut. He waited by the trunk for his luggage,trying to rub the soreness and significant lack of sleep from his eyes. He’d been up for way too long, and if he didn’t get to sleep soon, he would kill someone for no reason other than to relieve stress and pent up energy.

 

“You okay?” Zen asked, getting out from the driver side of the vehicle.

 

“No. I want to go to bed. You payed with cash, right?” Luciel asked.

 

Zen almost looked offended. “Of course I did. You think I want to lead the cops to the murderers of  _ the _ Kim Junho?”

 

Luciel shrugged. “Look, I’ve been awake for three days, so pardon my paranoia.”

 

“Three days and you still managed to shoot Inspector Song with a clean shot from Champs Elysée?” Zen let out a low whistle. “I’m impressed.”

 

“Sure, whatever, thanks. I’m tired. Help me carry our stuff into the motel,” Luciel commanded, pulling his suitcase out of the trunk and letting it hit to pavement to punctuate his point.

 

Zen, bless his patience, chuckled and picked up both his and Luciel’s bag, dragging them to the staircase of the motel. Even weighed down, he had long, graceful strides. Or maybe that was just Luciel’s imagination.

 

“Did I give you the key?” Zen asked once the duo was in front of their room.

 

In place of responding, Luciel inserted the key and rushed into the room, flopping horizontally onto the full-sized bed and kicking his shoes off. Zen lined the suitcases up by the far wall, pulling the key out of the door and locking it. He threw his jacket over a chair and sat down next to Luciel on the bed.

 

“How are you feeling?”

 

“Hungry. Tired. Sore,” Luciel said.

 

Luciel knew Zen was talking about his encounter with Junho, saw the way Zen glanced over his neck and chest during the drive to their temporary lodging, but he couldn’t bring himself to care as much over it as the red-eyed man. A job was a job, even if it included odd sexual encounters followed by relative torture. All that mattered was the pay, Luciel told himself every time he spoke with a handler.

 

“Mm, it’s a little early for food, unless we got delivery or went to a convenience store. Do you want me to go pick something up for you?” Zen asked.

 

“And get yourself recorded on a security camera? I can wait until we’re out of this country and in the next to eat. Just stay with me,” Luciel said.

 

A hand patted Luciel’s back, a silky chuckle accompanying it.

 

“If we order it, the delivery guy should be able to just bring it to our room instead of the check-in,” Zen offered.

 

“I’m only staying until, what, nine? I have a flight to catch at ten, and then I have a week before my next job. I can wait ‘til I’m on the plane to eat.”

 

Zen sighed. “When was the last time you ate?”

 

“Ugh, I don’t know, maybe yesterday morning?”

 

“God, I’m getting you something to eat.”

 

“No.”

 

“What do you mean no? I’m paying.”

 

Luciel groaned. “I just want to sleep. I think I’ll throw up if I eat something now.”

 

“Alright, I’ll take your word on it.” Zen sighed. He swung his long legs up onto the bed, back against the headboard. “Come here,” he said gently, patting the spot on the bed next to him.

 

“Too tired to move,” Luciel said, burying his head into the mattress.

 

“At least lay the right way on the bed,” Zen said.

 

“I’m short enough that it doesn’t matter.”

 

“I’m tall enough that it does.”

 

“Fine.”

 

Luciel shuffled up to Zen’s side, letting his head drop against the pillow. He yawned and rubbed his hands over his face. He pulled his glasses off, handing them to Zen. “Can you put these on the nightstand? I don’t want them to break.”

 

Zen obliged, folding the arms of the striped glasses in and setting them under a lamp. He almost jumped when he felt Luciel’s face bury its way into his shoulder, wrap his arms around Zen’s torso. Zen looked down at the redhead. He was already asleep. Zen slid down the bed so his back was supported by the mattress instead of the hard wooden headboard, and wrapped his arm around Luciel.


	5. afterlife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still unbeta'd.

**Gokbanjeong-dong, South Korea, 15 August, 2023, 5:26 PM**

 

“It’s about time you were ready to finish this,” Luciel said, walking up the steps to his brother’s apartment. Saeran stood in the doorway, leering at his approaching brother. Luciel stopped in front of Saeran, cocked his head and glanced over his twin’s form.

 

“Let’s just get this over with,” Saeran said, pushing past Luciel. “The sooner this is over, the sooner I can go back to bed.”

 

Luciel nodded, followed his brother to a familiar alley they used to play together in, back before his mom found another guy to marry and moved them all to Seoul. Deep down, he always knew that neither of them would turn out to be who they dreamed of, would never become surgeons or chefs or actors or lawyers. Deep down, he always knew this moment was coming. It was inevitable. It was only natural for a caged animal to bite the hand that fed them, so to speak. They had four minutes to hide outside an innocent man’s house, and then kill him.

 

All of this, of course, must be prefaced first by being invited in without being seen by neighbors. Luckily for the twins, anyone of their own social class could die on Monday and be found several days later on Thursday, maybe even Friday, without much commotion- investigation, even. It was a painful thought, a comforting one. Luciel only wished it was a different target.

 

“Mr. Lee still closes at five and comes home at five-thirty, right? I didn’t plan this wrong?” Luciel asked his brother.

 

“ _ Yes _ , Saeyoung. I told you before, this is when he comes home. I would know, I’m the twin stuck here,” Saeran spit.

 

“Okay, look, I know you don’t really like it here, but I’m freelance. We’ve been over this. I have to work wherever my next boss wants me too, I’m not affiliated anymore,” Luciel said.

 

“Whatever.”

 

Luciel sighed.

 

It was three minutes from then that Lee Seung Heon came strolling down the street to find the twins waiting on his step like obedient dogs.

 

“Hi, Seung Heon-shi,” the twins said in unison, standing up and bowing in greeting to the old man.

 

“Ah, you kids. I tell you time and time again that you don’t need to be formal with me! You’re practically my own grandchildren. There has to be a reason you were waiting for me, so let’s go inside where it’s a little cooler. I just bought spam, so I can make you army stew. You boys are too thin!” Seung Heon said with a chuckle, opening his door and ushering the twins in. “Yes, I’ll make you army stew. Saeyoung, you only eat chicken now?”

 

“Oh, chicken and fish, yeah. Sorry, I need to stay fit for work,” Luciel said, looking down at his feet.

 

“No need to say sorry. I’ll be out with snacks,” Seong Heon said.

 

“Soju?” Saeran asked, hopeful. Luciel smacked his brother’s arm, tugged him along and into the kitchen with Seong Heon.

 

“Of course! What’s army stew without alcohol?” the old man exclaimed, smiled.

 

“You two, honestly,” Luciel joked, sounding not unlike his own mother.

 

Seong Heon poured himself and Saeran small glasses of the crystal alcohol, raising an eyebrow at the younger twin when he down it in one swig.

 

“Saeran!” Luciel said.

 

“Oh please, I know you fill the void with junk food, don’t judge me,” Saeran said.

 

“You don’t eat beef but you still only eat chips! Saeyoung, you’re killing me,” Seong Heon said.

 

“Ah, sorry Seong Heon-shi,” Luciel said.

 

Luciel looked at Saeran when Seong Heon turned around to prepare their dinner. He hated himself for what he let his brother become, what he was about to do. He didn’t know who was upset with the old man, but a paycheck was a paycheck, and his client didn’t offer much more than the method to kill Seong Heon. Saeran looked down at his empty glass at the table, glanced over to meet Luciel’s eyes.

 

“Seong Heon-shi, why don’t you let us make dinner? You must be tired from working at the store all day,” Luciel said, coughed back the guilt clawing at his throat.

 

“No, no, I don’t want you boys to be troubled,” Seong Heon said, always the duo’s guardian.

 

“I insist,” Luciel said.

 

“Please, hyung,” Saeran added, “you always do so much for us, it’d only be right.”

 

“Alright, alright,” Seong Heon chuckled. “You two are better to me than my own children. I’ll be in the other room, if you need me. There are a few things I have to check on.”

 

Luciel hummed in response, standing up quickly and continuing where Seong Heon left off on the stew.

 

“Saeran, can you make the rice?”

 

“Make it yourself, asshole.”

 

“Saeran, come on-”

 

“I said make it yourself.”

 

“So you’re just gonna watch me, then?”

 

“Nope.”

 

Saeran stood and lightly smacked the back of his brother’s head before turning out of the kitchen, closing the door behind him.

 

It wasn’t that Luciel was desperate, no. That wasn’t why he took this job. It was Saeran who needed the money, but lacked the conviction. At least, that’s what Luciel told himself in the days prior to keep himself calm. So, no, it wasn’t that Luciel was desperate for the pay, despite his thoughts on pay being pay, regardless of the events leading up to pay day, despite his crippling fear of being unable to provide for his brother financially, despite his dreams of retiring to a nice secluded mountain village where he could live in comfort and anonymity.

 

If it weren’t for his conviction to his family, Luciel would crush the small vial in his pocket against the pavement and confess his weakness to Seong Heon, his inability to care for anymore more than himself and his brother.

 

Luciel regretted most of his life decisions- all of them, really. Especially now that he was stirring together the last meal of a man that acted as his father when his own parents wouldn’t.

 

The ease of killing an old classmate of his compared to Seong Heon was not lost on Luciel’s conscience.

 

Saeran came into the kitchen quietly, his demeanor much more meek than when he had left.

 

“Saeran, can you tell Seon Heon that dinner is almost done?” Luciel asked.

 

“Yeah, I can. But, Saeyoung, we need to talk,” Saeran said. He sounded nervous, like a child almost caught stealing from a cookie jar. Or like a man having run over a stranger in the middle of the night with no witnesses to hold him to moral standards. Something between the two.

 

“Is something wrong?” Luciel winced at his own words. Of course there was something wrong, something very, very wrong.

 

Saeran stared at him with dark eyes before continuing, “it’s Seong Heon. I- look, you know how we always wondered how he stayed in business? Back when we were teenagers and business was better than it is now? He went upstairs to his room to make a call. I think he’s part of Mint Eye.”

 

Luciel gulped. “How can you be sure?”

 

“I heard him, Saeyoung, I swear. We need to get out of here. We didn’t check if this place was bugged or not.”

 

“Okay, okay. Let me think,” Luciel said. “I can deal with this, yeah, I can deal with this. We need to move in, not run. So, I’ll finish this, and you look around for anything detrimental to our job, okay?”

 

Saeran nodded, gulped.

 

“Be careful.”

 

“I will.”

 

“Saeran? I love you.”

 

“I know, I know. I trust you, Saeyoung.”

 

\---

 

**Cheonan, South Korea, 12 June 2017, 11:48 A.M.**

 

“You made fast work of your jobs in France,” Vanderwood said.

 

Vanderwood was seated across from Luciel, who was resting his head against the small break room’s table.

 

“Is that bad?” Luciel asked, shifting slightly to peek his eyes up at his handler.

 

Vanderwood shrugged. “It’s not bad, but that doesn’t mean anything coming from me.” They sighed. “Look, I think it’s great. You’re good at what you do, and that’s that. But our client, now that’s a different story. She might’ve wanted you to stay, check for any collateral damage. Lucky for you, and me, she didn’t.”

 

“Wouldn’t you have told me to stay if I needed to?”

 

“I wasn’t your informer for that job, Seven.”

 

“Yeah, I guess not.” Luciel sighed, slumped further into his chair, flatter against the table. “I guess you can’t trust other agencies with that, huh?”

 

“From what I heard, you and Zen made quite the pair. Just keep it down next time, yeah? Intel told me that Junho was found within two hours of you killing him. Noise complaints can mess with jobs like that,” Vanderwood said. They rubbed their temples. “Do you need coffee or something? You look like hell.”

 

“I don’t drink coffee.”

 

“Right, no coffee or alcohol. I forgot.”

 

“Do you have coke or something?”

 

“Which kind?”

 

“Don’t even joke about that.” Luciel chuckled.

 

“I’ll be back. Hey, cheer up, agent. You get time off after you talk to the boss, unless he tacks another job onto your schedule,” Vanderwood said, leaning back into the room and turning the light off.

 

“Thanks,” Luciel said.

 

“Mmhmm.”

 

\---

 

**Gokbanjeong-dong, South Korea, 15 August, 2023, 5:26 PM**

Luciel sat listening to Saeran talking quietly with Seung Heon at his kitchen table. They were both nervous. Luciel could tell by the way Saeran fiddled with his hands beneath the table and the way Seong Heon leaned forwards (rather than backwards like he usually did when he ate). Spending numerous hours, minutes, seconds, with the two taught him their behaviours, their nuances of life. He only prayed they didn’t pick up on his own mannerisms- the way he scratched at his wrists, picked at the skin around his fingernails, chewed on his lips.

 

“Seung Heon-shi, you haven’t touched your water. Do you want something else to drink?” Luciel asked.

 

Seung Heon shook his head. “It’s fine, I just forgot it was there.”

 

“Because you’re old?” Saeran said.

 

“Yeah, because I’m old. You know, you kids are getting older too, you can’t stop that,” Seung Heon said with a chuckle.

 

Luciel groaned. “Don’t remind me. My friends tell me I should think about getting married soon. Can you even imagine that- me, married?”

 

“Ha, what friends?” Saeran asked, slapping his brother’s arm.

 

“Saeran-”

 

“I think it would be wonderful if you found someone, Saeyoung,” Seung Heon cut the twins off. “You’re responsible, and you’re more caring than my grandchildren. You’d make a great husband.”

 

“Even though he’s fucking gay,” Saeran joked. Luciel elbowed Saeran in the side.

 

“I’m serious, you two. I think maybe it’s time to think about the rest of your lives, who you want to spend that time with,” Seung Heon said.

 

“I already have Saeran,” Luciel pointed out.

 

“And I have Saeyoung,” Saeran added.

 

“And we’re both thirty, so that’s basically almost half our lives. We don’t need anyone new,” Luciel concluded.

 

Seung Heon shook his head. “Just don’t think you’re better off alone. I’ve been there, and I reached the lowest point in my life during that time.”

 

“But then you met Youngsook. You’ve told us this story so many times, hyung,” Saeran said.

 

Seung Heon looked satisfied, leaned back from his position and planted his hands behind him on the floor. He let out a long breath. “And it’s probably the last time, isn’t it? Ah, I love you boys, you know that?”

 

“Excuse me?” Luciel pushed his glasses further up onto his nose, wiped underneath them at the sweat building on his nose. “Where is all of this coming from, Seung Heon-shi?”

 

“I’m old, and I may be even a little too trusting, but I’m not stupid. I know you work for a lot of powerful people, and most of those people hate mine. But remember that most of those people- they’re not good people. There aren’t many good people left, and you boys could have been a miracle to the world...”

 

“I’m not sure I’m following you-”

 

“I know you’re here to kill me today. Why else would you be back in Gokbanjeong-dong after fifteen years, Saeyoung?”

 

“Seung Heon-shi,” Luciel said, fighting the shivers running through each notch of his spine.

 

“I don’t blame you. I’m fine dying here, in the house that I grew to appreciate, and with you boys, who I grew to love.”

 

At this point, Luciel looked down at his lap, ignored Saeran’s sniffle, Seung Heon’s kind smile. His eyes traced over the outline of the small vial in his pocket. He wanted to put this off as long as he could, he really did. He slipped the little glass container from his pocket, fiddled with it between his fingers.

 

“How long? How long have you been working with Magenta?” Luciel asked.

 

At this point, Luciel felt like nothing more than  _ Saeyoung _ . Little, push-over Saeyoung, who had no way to fight back against all the injustices in his life, a time before he learned that peaceful feeling of just  _ forgetting _ and living each day as it came.

 

“A few years.”

 

“Who invited you?”

 

“The ones who invite everyone else.”

 

At this point,  _ Saeyoung _ wanted to claw through his skin and pull Luciel,  _ Agent Seven _ , back to him from wherever they disappeared to. Luciel didn’t care, not enough about anything to have as many regrets as Saeyoung. Seven didn’t need to care, not when he compartmentalized and cut off emotions in such a clean way, a way Saeyoung could never achieve.

 

At this point,  _ Saeyoung _ lost all his confidence.

 

“How are they?”

 

“They’re good. They helped me keep my shop open, helped me keep this house.”

 

“They’ve been good to you? Nothing and no one disappeared on you?”

 

“No, nothing like that. They’re good people, Saeyoung, they are.”

 

“Maybe at first, during that, what do you call it? ‘Honeymoon period.’ I thought they were great at first, too.”

 

Seung Heon sighed, gave him a sad smile. “After you left the district, and your brother started working, I was lonely. They reminded me of you two, treated me the same.”

 

“Dont compare us, Seung Heon-shi. Please.”

 

“They miss you, Saeyoung.”

 

And that was all he needed to hear to harden- or completely rip apart?- his resolve. He rolled the vial over to Seung Heon. “Do with it what you want. Saeran, we should go.”

 

At this point, Saeran nodded and followed Luciel out of the old man’s house, out of his life, and back to their apartment merely alleyways over. At this point, both twins were exhausted, angry, bitter. Luciel hoped Saeran didn’t feel the same constricting, biting sensation between his ribs and in his heart, hear the cries and shouts pounding in his skull.

 

The next day, Luciel would bare witness to a broadcast of policemen trying to coax Seung Heon from the Mapo Bridge before the old man leapt into the river, arms reaching out to the sky above.

 

\---

 

**Cheonan, South Korea, 12 June 2017, 12:02 A.M.**

 

By the time Vanderwood came back to the employee break room, Luciel had moved to the couch, sprawled across it lazily with the hood of his jacket pulled up.

 

“Seven? I brought milkis for you. Are you up?” Vanderwood said, kneeling down next to the man on taking up the entire couch.

 

“Sunbae,” he drawled, “what took you so long?”

 

“It’s only been a few minutes,” Vanderwood said, handing over the drink to Luciel.

 

“Really? It feels like I’ve been sleeping for hours.” Luciel sat up, drew his knees to his chest. “Sit with me?”

 

“No sleep on the flight?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Vanderwood placed themself next to Luciel, wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Luciel hummed and leaned into the familiar touch.

 

“How long have you been my handler?”

 

“Hmm, since ‘09? It’s been a while, Saeyoung.”

 

“Ah, I like hearing you talk like this with me.”

 

“Yeah? I wish we could do it more often.”

 

“I wish we could have a life outside of the agency.”

 

“If we did, what would you do?”

 

“Me? I’m not sure. Maybe I’d go through military service and figure things out from there. You?”

 

“Ah, you are around that age, aren’t you. I think I’d go back home, maybe get a normal job. Pretty boring, right?”

 

“Pfft, after the lives we’ve led, yeah. I think- I think even if I  _ didn’t _ have to work with the agency, I still would. I mean, someone from my social standing getting a job that’ll pay enough for me and my brother? Unlikely.”

 

“I’m sure you’d find something, you’re smart. How could they not hire someone that went through college on a full ride?”

 

Luciel set his now-empty bottle on the floor. He curled up next to Vanderwood, burying himself in their side. “Employers don’t look at that, they look at how poor I was.”

 

“I guess being paid in cash is a blessing and a curse.”

 

Luciel hummed. “Do I have to go talk to the boss? Can’t he just read over whatever you type up and let me go?”

 

“I wish he would,” Vanderwood said, “but you know he’s looking for more than a professional report. Speaking of, he’s probably done with his meeting by now.”

 

“Did you already send the report up?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Then I guess that’s my cue to leave.” Luciel sighed. “Hug?”

  
Vanderwood chuckled, though they obliged.


	6. casanova

**Wollongong, Australia, 11 June, 2025, 4:32 A.M.**

 

Luciel lied on the floor staring up at the ceiling in his empty apartment. It was too empty, too quiet, for one person- too desolate, even. But, Luciel would later think, it’s what he needed. Not that he ever did anything he  _ really _ needed. The lack of communication with anyone outside of work invitations was proof enough of that.

 

Two years without so much as calling his brother.  _ Coward _ .

 

Luciel was a coward.

 

\---

 

**Fulda, Germany, 29 July 2017, 10:10 A.M.**

 

“Is this ethical?”

 

Luciel almost snorted at the spotter positioned next to him. Almost, but if there’s one thing Luciel was, it was a fucking  _ professional _ .

 

“Zen, I think you took the wrong job if you wanted to be ethical about things,” Luciel said. “Especially if you agreed to work with me again.”

 

Zen sighed, stole a quick glance at Luciel before peering back through his binoculars. “Yeah, I walked right into that one.”

 

“But,” Luciel added, “if you mean to say it’s unethical by shooting a man coming out of church for money, then yes, it’s all very, very against moral code. Whatever that is. But hey, a paycheck is a paycheck, right?”

 

“Don’t say that,” Zen said offhandedly.

 

“Or what?” Luciel stroked the grip of his gun with his thumb. “Talk about how this guy probably has a family? Hopes and dreams? I have a train I need to catch in a few hours, and I’ll be damned if I don’t get sleep before my next job because of you and your guilt.”

 

“This doesn’t bother you?”

 

“Not when I don’t think about it.”

 

“So, what, you choose to not think about it?”

 

“Can I ask you something?” Luciel cut in.

 

“Fine. Ask.”

 

“Was Junho your first kill?”

 

“I don’t know if I should be offended-”

 

“Answer me.”

 

“He was my first paid kill.”

 

“ _ Paid? _ What the fuck did you do before this gig?” Luciel asked. He was tempted to look at his spotter- who, in retrospect, had absolutely  _ no right  _ taking that position over Vanderwood, seeing as this agent only qualified as a deep throat and undercover agent,  _ at best _ .

 

“Don’t wanna talk about it.”

 

Luciel snorted this time. “Sure. Just make sure your head isn’t in the clouds , or the past, or  _ whatever  _ when I take this shot. Got it? God forbid I miss.”

 

“Okay,” Zen said, though the bite wasn’t lost on Luciel’s trained ears.

 

Luciel immersed himself in his jobs. His fellow agents, well, they usually weren’t as  _ into it _ as he was. It was a respite from reality for him, but at the same time, it was being thrown into a freezing river, shaking him to his senses, his core. With another agent working with him, it was being stuck under a thick layer of ice like Rasputin, dizzy and cold, bleeding and shivering and clawing for freedom. In other words, the focus of his scope calmed his nerves only until it was time for the task, and when the body hit the pavement and everything had to be disassembled and packed away and carried to another country for the cycle to repeat, Luciel wished he was the dead body with a gaping hole in its skull, its neck, wherever.

 

Hunting Baltasar Cord was the same. If not for the statuesque man sitting next to him on the roof, Luciel would have said that the situation was almost boring, the same thing he’d face every mission, save for the duo’s effort on Luciel’s last job.

 

With the agent next to him, Luciel felt distracted. Distracted, now _that_ was a funny way to put it.

 

(And it really was, wasn’t it?)

 

Zen made Luciel feel like was being watched, and more so than usual. He felt like it was easier for them  to get caught, the man’s shimmering, light hair blinding anyone who dared crane their neck just ever so slightly to see the crown of the spotter’s head in the sunlight, the bangs brushing against his forehead.

 

It’s not until the doors of the church swing open and people in matching large-brimmed hats and silken scarves pour out that Luciel’s heart sinks to his stomach.

 

(It’s like a cult, like a wolf in sheep’s clothing alerted the horde that he was there, waiting.)

 

“Shit,” he hissed because, really, it’s not fair.

 

Zen let out a low whistle. “You’re seeing this too, right?” he asked.

 

“Seeing  _ what _ ,” Luciel asked, and he can’t keep the bitterness from seeping into his voice as he glared at the man beside him, “all the people just- just  _ swarming _ the place?”

 

“Yeah,” Zen said. “But,” he adds, “more like, the way they’re moving.”

 

Luciel turned his attention back to the mass of bodies below them. And there it was, the shifting as they walked, the subtle parting for one person to slip through the crowd.

 

And just like that, Luciel had packed everything back up into his saxophone case and started bolting down the fire escape before Zen could ask him what in god’s name he was doing, left with no choice but to follow, watch.

 

\---

 

**Wollongong, Australia, 11 June, 2025, 4:58 A.M.**

 

Sleep was finally willing to take over after nearly a week of insomnia, with its warm fingers and demanding touches wrapped around him, his shield from the world outside.

 

Then, his phone went off and he rolled over with a loud groan.

 

“What?” he hissed into the receiver, voice husky, raw.

 

“Morning, sunshine. I’ve got a job for you,” Vanderwood said, used to and unphased by the redhead’s attitude after long nights and no sleep.

 

“Hang on- I need to wake up more before you keep talking. I don’t- who’s on the team so far?” Luciel asked, rubbing his eyes.

 

“No, no. You wake up, and then I’ll tell you. Do you want me to stay on the line?” Vanderwood asked with a sigh.

 

“That’d be great.”

 

Luciel got up from his mattress on the floor and his messy pile of blankets, and trudged into the kitchenette in search of caffeine.

 

“How’re things going in Cheonan?” Luciel asked, his phone balancing between his cheek and shoulder, pouring the rest of a can of Red Bull into a plastic cup.

 

“Busy. It takes more people for jobs nowadays if we want anything done right. Not the same without a sniper that knows what they’re doing, but you know that,” Vanderwood dismissed.

 

“Yeah, well, it’s always harder when you don’t have someone readily available to clean up a job that gets fuck up.”

 

“I wouldn’t say you ever did great cleaning up after others. It’s more like you commandeered things before they even had a chance to mess up.”

 

“You want something done right, do it yourself.” Luciel took a gulp of his lukewarm drink, sending a shiver up his spine and a bad aftertaste in his mouth. “Ugh, how do people drink this everyday?” he muttered to himself.

 

“Are you drinking energy drinks again? God, I knew you were having trouble sleeping again, but for you to go this far? Doesn’t that mess with your medication?”

 

Vanderwood sounded concerned. Never a good thing.

 

“I’m not a stupid kid anymore. I can at least tell when I should stop with the intake,” Luciel said.

 

“You’re not a kid, sure. But you’re an idiot. You know how many times I had to lie and report that nothing was wrong with you to the boss when you did shit like this?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. And thank you, really, but I’m fine. Just need the help. If I can’t sleep, gotta stay up, right?”

 

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

 

“Okay. Now that I’m awake, will you please tell me who I’ll be working with? It’s been a while and I want to know if I should even bother showing up.”

 

“You’ll be showing up anyway. We both know that,” Vanderwood said. “But I think it would better if you went in blind.”

 

“Are you serious?” Luciel let out a chuckle. “You’ve lost it, old timer. How do you expect me to just go in without knowing who I’m working with?”

 

“I just think it’s safer for you to not know.”

 

“Safer? Are you not my handler this time or something?”

 

“I’ll be in contact with higher-ups, but I’m not going to be in your ear during the mission. We’re working with another agency, and they want to send one of their guys to take charge of tech.”

 

“Airheads.”

 

(He says, despite knowing he’s no better.)

 

Vanderwood laughed.

 

\---

 

**Fulda, Germany, 29 July 2017, 10:13 A.M.**

 

“Seven?” Zen breathed between deep breaths once he had caught up with the redhead.

 

He didn’t know what he was expecting.

 

Luciel was standing in an alleyway, a  _ dead end _ , staring at the brick wall like it would open up any moment and let him through. The thought crossed his mind that perhaps there was a secret opening, a hidden staircase beneath their feet and that’s what Luciel was looking for- but, oh, he knew, from the tugging in his chest and the voice in his mind, they lost their target.

 

“What happened back there?” Zen asked.

 

“He was right here,” Luciel said, ignoring Zen’s question, “right- right  _ fucking _ here!” 

 

“Who? Cord? Did you- you saw him?” Zen prompted.

 

“Yes! God, just- dammit! Oh my _ god _ !”

 

Zen was silent, a spectator watching everything unfold before him with no way of reaching his hands out to make it stop.

 

“This is  _ so fucked _ ,” Luciel said, running his hands through his hair, saxophone case forgotten on the ground beside him. His eyes were shiny, wet with the promise of tears.

 

“Seven, take a deep breath, alright?” Zen gingerly placed his hand on the older man’s shoulder.

 

“But-”

 

“No, look at me, and breathe. If he came down this way, he’s probably still around, right? Not many places for him to go. Might even be in one of these buildings.” Zen motioned to the café on their right.

 

“No, no, you don’t get it! My brother- fuck!” Luciel said, gripping his hair and, oh, there were the tears. Pathetic.

 

Zen blinked. “You have a brother?”

 

(A slip of the tongue, a lapse in better judgment.)

 

Luciel bit his lip, bit down hard until it was red, agitated. He nodded.

 

Zen looked Luciel over, head to toe, something unreadable in his eyes. He sighed, shook his head, looked back at the wall Luc was still intently boring holes into.

 

“Next time,” Zen said, though they both knew that there would be no next time.

**Author's Note:**

> scream at me on [tumblr](http://honeynut-yurios.tumblr.com/)


End file.
